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Wondering
V.
Hair smells of coconut.
Greaze legs with lotion,
scrub face with Irish Spring,
wear Chris Farley tee shirt to bed
& wonder if you think of me as you
smoke weed from a fiber glass bong.
Scribble poems in your journal.
Suffocate cigarette
into half-eaten slices of toast
you didn't want,
but came with the Glam-Slam breakfast anyway,
that sat dormant,
sandwiched, between the knife
& fork stained with syrup,
in a plate next to the green ashtray
you claim you didn't see.
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